The Chasm of Madness
by artificiallynatural
Summary: When mysterious visions begin to plague Thomas's mind in the form of a certain young man, he is forced to come to terms with his past actions, follow the unreasonable voice in his mind, and, in the end, question his sanity. Thommy, three parts, AU.


- The Chasm of Madness -

Thomas had always known he was different. It was himself against the world; only he understood and fully appreciated its cruelness. He couldn't help but pride himself in his isolated independence- he had built a wall of cold resistance around others, hardened his exterior to the point of unemotional responses for whatever pain he might have caused. He had lost track of his malicious deeds long ago.

Yet, he had never quite felt so vulnerable before; so broken down from the inside out.

This is the story of his undoing.

* * *

"Who's the new chap, then?" Thomas asked, flicking his eyes from the servants' hall to Daisy, who was currently covered in a billowy cloud of flour as she beat a pile of dough into submission.

"We haven't got no new feller," Daisy said, and paused in her task to give him a strange look. Thomas would have felt the compulsion to reprimand her hadn't she seemed so sincere about it.

Instead, he furrowed his brow and stubbed his cigarette out upon a cutting board, earning a harassed cry of protest from the kitchen maid. He didn't have the time nor patience to explain that yes, indeed, there was a new fellow who came to fill in the void space that William had once occupied. Whenever the late footman was mentioned in her midst, Daisy would grow somber and exit whatever room his name happened to be spoken aloud. Mrs Patmore would mercifully grant her a few minutes of privacy, and brandish a threatening utensil toward any who dared question it.

Thomas straightened his livery as he entered the servants' hall, blasé expression in place. Oddly enough, not one person paid a lick of attention to the lad, who was young and certainly handsome, surpassing Thomas's expectations by far. Surely the maids would be simpering about him coquettishly or the hall boys curious? The man stood by the mahogany table, propped up against a chair in a way that Thomas would only describe as jaunty. Unprofessional, but that could certainly be overlooked for the time being.

Even odder, however, was that the young man was staring at Thomas with a confident smirk, as if he could _read his thoughts_. It sent Thomas into a queer fright, but his mild fear soon transitioned into placated relief when he assured himself that such a feat was far from possible.

Thomas cleared his throat. "You must be-"

"Jimmy Kent, at your service," the man cut in with a wink, thrusting a hand out toward Thomas.

"Mr Carson will insist upon James," Thomas laughed. He reached out his right hand- his good hand- firmly shaking Jimmy's. "Welcome to Downton," he said, with what he hoped was a winning smile. "Thomas Barrow, valet. I trust all the arrangements have been made to accommodate you?"

"Hm? Oh yes- yes, of course," Jimmy said, distractedly. He held onto Thomas's hand, a promising sign. "It's been far too long, hasn't it?" he murmured.

With a tilt to his head, Thomas gave a small frown. "I'm sorry...have we met before?" He slowly began to inch his hand away from Jimmy's in order to quell a potentially suspicious scenario, only resulting in a tighter grip as he was forced to stay put.

Jimmy's cobalt eyes seemed to flash as he pressed their joined hands to Thomas's chest (right against his heart).

"Far too long," he said, twining their fingers and peering up at Thomas in wonder. He revealed a honey-slow smile; titanium white teeth and a pleasing fullness to his lips, almost _entrancing_...

"Thomas! And may I inquire as to why you are meandering about?" Mrs Hughes appeared by the doorway, causing Thomas to jolt away from Jimmy and rip their hands apart.

"Just helping the new footman to his place, Mrs Hughes," he replied evenly, hoping his voice oversaturated the nervous thrum to his heart. Jimmy chuckled quietly behind him.

Mrs Hughes glanced around the empty room, expression revealing confusion. "New footman? Surely I would know if one arrived."

Thomas shared her look of perplexity, gesturing behind himself. "Yes, Ji- James here-"

"James?" Mrs Hughes cut in, eyes squinted in puzzlement. She stepped forward, concern edging into her voice.

Slightly frustrated, Thomas turned his head to show her that Jimmy was right behind him- but the man was nowhere to be seen. "Ah-"

He swivelled his gaze around, finding no indication whatsoever- neither body nor suitcase. His eyes finally came to rest upon the unsettled form of Mrs Hughes, who must had been thinking he had gone stark mad. "Well, he _was_ just here," he assured her. "Blond fellow, a bit short."

Pursing her lips, Mrs Hughes gave a lift of her shoulders. A sudden look passed over her features, and she asked in a kind voice (one she so rarely utilised with him), "Perhaps you need rest, Thomas? It's been a long day."

Thomas shook his head, distantly. "I'm quite alright," he assuaged her. "Surely he must have stepped out just as you came in." You know he didn't, he was right against you! As if to prove Jimmy's existence, Thomas gave the room one last, fleeting look.

Mrs Hughes offered him a hopeful smile, though the worry in her eyes told otherwise. "Perhaps he'll make an appearance in time for supper."

* * *

Mrs Hughes's prediction was correct- Jimmy was at supper.

Thomas was horrified to find him slouching in Carson's chair, staring about in a bored manner. His eyes lit up when he saw Thomas. "Fancy seeing _you_ here."

"Fancy seeing you at all," Thomas returned, though a warm smile replaced the warning glare he had originally planned to employ, and he all together forgot about Jimmy's dangerous choice of seating in favour of relishing in the man's bright smile.

A throaty chuckle left Jimmy's mouth, leaving Thomas grinning from ear to ear. Jimmy had changed out of his tweed weskit and slacks, now donning a footman's livery- he made it look very nice, indeed. The colours were a bit off, though. Instead of the traditional green and black, Jimmy's was substituted with red and gold.

"So you've figured it out so soon?" Jimmy asked in a conspiring whisper, suddenly all business as he leaned closer by his elbows.

"You're Houdini in disguise?" Thomas guessed, pulling his chair out to sit. He retrieved a crumpled box of cigarettes from his inside pocket.

"Not quite," Jimmy's smile widened, matching the Cheshire proportions of Thomas's.

"Then I give in," Thomas muttered around a cigarette, patting against his pockets for the familiar shape of his lighter. Frowning, he idly pursued the idea of checking his room for it.

A chink of metal against metal caught his attention and Thomas glanced up, eyes briefly widening at the flame offered by Jimmy's outstretched hand- which held his silver lighter! He slowly leaned closer to touch the end of his cigarette to the flickering heat, a curious tilt to his eyebrows. "Not _quite_ Houdini, you say?"

Jimmy merely gave another laugh, reaching for Thomas's hand and pressing the lighter into it. "How about," he murmured against the shell of Thomas's ear. "-how about I tell you when you're close to it."

"Close to what, exactly?" Thomas asked, not minding in the least their questionable proximity.

"Who were ya talkin' to, then?" O'Brien's voice rang out, the trademark lilt of suspicion tinged within her words.

Thomas visibly blanched when he straightened, putting a respectable amount of distance away from Jimmy, who-

Carson's chair was empty, save for the fluttering echo of a laugh, already akin to a half-forgotten memory in Thomas's mind.

Straightening his posture, he casually (with trembling fingers) flicked the lighter closed (still warm from the press of Jimmy's flesh) and shrugged. "Myself. Going through a list of things I'll get come next half-day."

O'Brien sent him a disturbed look as she took her regular spot. "Alright," she said, cautiously, and sat.

She regarded Thomas for a moment longer, causing discomfort to wedge itself within his conscience, before finally dropping the subject to broach her own work-related woes. "Her Ladyship was most unsettled today."

"Mm?" Thomas feigned interest, half-way close to fainting. Inside his mind, his inner screaming rattled against any hope of coherent thoughts, blocking out O'Brien's droll tales.

Jimmy was either capable of superhuman abilities that included invisibility, or he was a phantasmal ghost...oddity, or-

"Don't be daft. I'm neither of those," a voice purred against his ear.

Thomas glanced up sharply, in time to watch as Jimmy situated himself at the piano. A soft string of notes floated across the room, and Thomas idly pursued the idea that surely O'Brien would hear it and realise there was somebody playing. However, she gave no indication as she continued her tirade of complaints against the occupants of Upstairs.

"What are you, then?" he demanded, momentarily forgetting himself as he glared over O'Brien's shoulder.

"Questions, questions. The inquisitive mind was never the wise..." Jimmy sang out.

"What?" O'Brien, bewildered, scrutinised Thomas through narrowed eyes. "What am I? A bit chafed 'cos you keep ignorin' me." Each stress of her words was punctuated by the pressing of keys, much to Thomas's chagrin and Jimmy's delight.

"Sorry, I'm a bit knackered is all," Thomas quickly apologised, hoping to amend her anger. He tore his gaze away from Jimmy's smug smile- the nagging reminder that others viewed him as a deranged fool when he spoke out.

Thankfully, O'Brien only sighed with a rueful smile (the only sensitivity she'd ever display) and gestured to the door leading out back. "A smoke will do the both of us some good, I suspect."

"Yes, go blacken your lungs with the ashes of the damned, that shall solve it!" Jimmy called out. He struck a last few, lingering notes, and they hung in the air before all was silent.

Thomas held the door open. "May it drive out the devil," he murmured, and although he looked at O'Brien, he was not addressing her.

* * *

Eager for the chance to sleep the day away, Thomas had hurriedly divested himself of his livery and now stood at his bureau.

As he rose from washing his face over the basin, he caught sight of a movement across the mirror's reflection. Forcing himself to remain calm, he took a deep breath and turned.

Jimmy leaned against the doorframe, the neck of a wine bottle dangling between his index and middle fingers. He wore a suit, more splendid than any of the material in Lord Grantham's closet put together. Thomas was granted no time to dwell upon it as Jimmy tossed the wine up, the liquid softly sloshing about as his fingers expertly wrapped around the base of the bottle. Thomas watched him warily, throat dry.

Jimmy pointed the cork end toward him, a mocking ring to his voice. "Thievery, Thomas?"

Thomas frowned, reaching out to retrieve the wine. He expected his hand to pass through the illusion, yet there was no explanation available when his fingertips brushed against cool glass. His thoughts briefly began to wander, wanting to know what Jimmy would feel like under his touch- warm and pulsing and alive, or a formless shape so tantalisingly out of reach? He cleared his throat. "I'm going to have to insist that you cease taking my belongings."

"Gluttony, then? You certainly fit the bill for the greedy sort," Jimmy said, clearly disregarding his request. Moving to inspect Thomas's bureau, he ran a finger along a gilded comb set, picking one up. "Perhaps a bit of vanity as well?"

When no reply came from Thomas, Jimmy swept behind him. With a teasing smile, he grazed the brush along Thomas's dishevelled hair and pressed up overwhelmingly close- smelling of apples dusted with cinnamon- their lips a breath apart. Thomas's heart rate accelerated- vision or not, Jimmy was certainly a disbeliever of personal space, and Thomas fought hard to maintain his calm exterior.

"Let us not forget...sodomy," Jimmy whispered against his lips, the vibration of a low chuckle following his brash statement.

Frustrated, Thomas snatched the comb from Jimmy's hand, allowing it to clatter back onto the desk. He felt a curious compulsion to laugh for some reason- after all, it was all so strange for him to be conversing with thin air. "Go away."

"Ah, human nature," Jimmy said with a sigh, and pointedly slid the comb back into place upon its towel, as if to convey that the virtue of neatness was applicable even in the most stressed of situations.

"At least I'm human," Thomas mumbled, lamely. He stared down at the floor miserably, knowing that somehow his mind was turning awful tricks upon him, deceiving his eyes with this mysterious apparition. A hand, oddly warm, wrapped around his arm, and Thomas lifted his gaze to Jimmy's insistent blue stare.

"And I'm not?" Jimmy asked him, voice soothing- as if to encourage Thomas's agreement. His fingers trailed up the length of Thomas's shoulder, brushing against his neck. The situation was so intimate and real- down to the slight grip Jimmy applied upon his skin, his mouth parted and quirked into an encouraging smile- so absolute that Thomas foolishly allowed himself to believe and pretend-

Thomas shook his head, unable to resist touching Jimmy's cheek- flushed and so corporeal- revelling in how right and actual this all felt. "No," he said, quietly. "No, I don't believe you are. I'm just going mad."

Jimmy threw his head back with ringing laughter and laced his fingers behind Thomas's neck. "Oh," he replied, thoughtfully, the beginnings of a knowing smile playing against his lips. "But we all go mad eventually, don't we?"

* * *

Over the next few days, Jimmy made regular appearances, often when Thomas was in the midst of a job or conversing with the other servants. He grew accustomed to the strange looks others gave him; "Just talking to myself," he'd inform before sneaking glances toward the not-so-invisible Jimmy.

Tonight, Jimmy wore a suit of golden hues. He stood up from the piano bench (after playing the nightly finale of Alkin's Trois grandes études, Jimmy informed him) and stretched. "We really must talk."

Thomas regarded him levelly. Deliberately, he flicked his wrist, tapping smouldering ash into the glass tray before raising the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. "Why." It came out as a question devoid of curiosity; parched and uncaring.

"No need to be so _dull_," Jimmy chastised. He stood, moving behind Thomas, placing his hands upon his shoulders and leaning down to murmur against his ear. "Though in response to your inquiry, I have one of my own. ...do you believe in...God?"

The warm breath that ghosted across his jaw elicited a slight shiver from Thomas. He breathed out, steadying his rattled nerves. "...no, I mean- I'm unsure."

Even without the ability to hear, Jimmy's mouth molded each word- branding them into Thomas's skin so that he /felt/ them as much as he absorbed them through auditory methods.

"I was put here," Jimmy continued, his fingers trailing up through Thomas's hair and purposefully crackling through the layers of pomade. "To help you."

"Help me?" Thomas asked, hints of laughter threatening to surface.

"Mmm, yes," Jimmy hummed, shifting so that he leaned against Thomas's thigh, lowering himself to sit. The action effectively ceased Thomas's chuckles. Jimmy resumed combing his fingers through Thomas's dark hair, and pressed a whisper of a kiss against his brow. "Yes," he said, drowsily. "I'm helping you."

Thomas quickly stamped his cigarette into the ashtray and slid both hands about Jimmy's waist to hold him. Peering up, he marveled at the young man's flawless features and felt his trousers tighten.

Jimmy's eyes flickered open, a dazzling smile appearing. "It's really been so long, hasn't it?" His voice was slightly lower in timbre; breathless.

"Uhn," Thomas answered, swallowing thickly when Jimmy nudged a hip against him. A slow heat began to burn, settling between his legs.

"Thomas," Jimmy said, softly, and rocked against him slowly, leaning down to mouth at Thomas's neck- the press of his tongue hot and clever. How was it remotely possible, when he knew that Jimmy wasn't even there?

Yet, the tight ball of rational thinking was rapidly becoming unwound, leaving no room for foolish questions. Jimmy's voice, wanton and rough, filled his mind; his touch seeped into Thomas's pores.

"Pray, Thomas," Jimmy sighed, lifting Thomas's hands and kissing him deeply on the mouth. "Pray for your life."

**End notes: Working on part II!**


End file.
